


The Long Journey Home

by CinnamonrollStark



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Apocalypse, Demons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, End of the World, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Loss of Parent(s), Marvel Universe, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Peter Parker, Sad, Saving the World, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 09:24:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonrollStark/pseuds/CinnamonrollStark
Summary: Five years ago, Morgan Stark was killed in a hit and run, and her father made a deal with a demon to bring her back. Unfortunately, this starts a chain reaction of the undead rising- and they are not entirely the same as they once were.Now, Peter has to deal with the consequences. Tony has died, and has now been replaced with a dark entity. Regardless, the boy makes the decision to save him to the best of his ability- and to bring him home.





	The Long Journey Home

**Author's Note:**

> So, this will probably seem confusing at times. It'll make sense as this goes along. Hope you enjoy it!

Wind whispers against broken ground and sends tendrils of dying grass and fractured metal into the air, a mockery of a tornado. Peter kicks at the dirt and watches as the process starts all over again.

He's standing now, unsure of what gears need to grind, what plan must be set in motion. The sky is grand, a rich hue of canary yellow and burnt orange, and the horizon pitties him, casting shadows across the body, nearly hiding it from view. If he doesn't search too hard, he cannot see the man. Unfortunately, he has been taken over now by a sense of morbid curiosity, a wonder that captivates him and makes his stomach do somersaults. 

There is much to do, little to say. No one to say it to, that's for sure. He looks beyond, at the dip between the mountains, where the sun sets asymmetrically, arms of flame and star fire extending, reaching out to him. As the star disappears behind the rolling hills, Peter feels the heat leave him, and with it, his energy. He falls to his knees, exhausted.

Peter's skin brushes against the upper arm and he flinches before settling up to it. The metal is still warm, perhaps by body heat, but of that he isn't certain. He lays a hand across the forehead, which has gone cold, a dry cold that he's only felt once before. Flashes of Ben cross his mind, the sickening memory of life, subtracted cruelly by a robber in a mask- a gunshot, that was all it had taken.

A tear slips out unguarded and spills down his cheek. Peter doesn't bother to wipe it away, as it is soon followed by another. He runs his hands through the man's hair, rusty blood seeping on to his fingers. There was little he could've done to prevent this, and less to have saved him after the injury. Regardless, Peter burns with guilt and regret.

He has to concentrate on the words as they form, careful as not to wake the beast of tears and weeping that slumbers in his chest.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. I promise I'm going to get you home."

□□□

_The beginning of the end was almost boring, a terribly insignificant start to a very important day. _

_At home in his apartment with May, Peter binge-watched another season of Impractical Jokers as he built a Lego set and his aunt painted her fingernails. On the other side of the city, Tony Stark took quite a lovely shower- accompanied by Mrs. Stark, formerly, Miss Potts. Somewhere in Boston, Banner taught a class at a very hoity-toity university, wearing his pajama shirt under a suit jacket. Natasha Romanoff, in the outskirts of Mannhattan, demonstrated to a group of excited dancers-to-be how to stand on point. Somewhere in foreign land, Thor flirted with a beautiful woman/alien, making small talk about politics and midgaurdian stupidity. An arrow, pointed, raised- Barton and his daughter, a homemade target practice of sorts. Lastly, Steve Rogers, sitting in his bedroom, drawing in charcoal the form of Bucky Barnes, who posed dramatically for him._

_Life was irresistibly simple, and that was how most enjoyed it. Imperfect, perhaps, but good in it's interety. _

_And then there was Morgan, whose intentions were far from impure, a child about her day with a lack of inhibition and even less so conscious of her surroundings. Pigtails swayed atop her head and she began a slow trek across the lawn in the wake of her ball, a bright blue thing that sent rays of reflected sun into her eyes._

_Morgan's toe tapped the ball, just slightly, causing it to tumble even further forward. Of course, the ball had no malicious intent in finding it's way across the hot pavement; it was simply following the laws of physics, and, lacking a psyche, could not have possibly possesed the intellect to actually plan out the next few moments._

_She didn't hear the car, but in all fairness, she wasn't trying to. The intention was merely to catch the ball and return to the dewy grass of the front yard, and perhaps play, later, with her mother and father. But the universe had a devilish plan, and there was no space within its timeline to allow this sort of childhood enjoyment._

_It was a pickup truck, that struck her. It was somewhat instantaneous, the death; a shard of rib peirced her heart and that was that. The After swallowed her before the tiny body hit the road._

_The truck continued on it's way, never to turn back. A hit and run. It was thirty minutes before-_

_"Hey Pep?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Where's Morgs?"_

_Pepper wriggled the towel turban from her head, damp strands of stringy redblonde hair, brows furrowing. "She was taking a nap."_

_Tony nodded, his heart picking up the pace, a trot to a gallop. "Yeah. Morgan?" He called, an edge of worry cutting in and staining the words red. _

_"Morg?" _

_He rounded a corner, to the entry way, finding the door just slightly ajar. Pepper followed from the bedroom, contagious worry spreading through her veins like ice water. "Oh my god," she uttered preemptively, a thought flashing through the back of her mind._

_The hinges of the front door whined as the anxious parents made their exit. Tony spotted her first, and Pepper only moments later. The latter dropped to her knees, sharp grass leaving red streaks across the bare skin under her robe. _

_When he finally reached her, Tony prayed that she would breathe, that the expansion of her skin, her chest, her lungs, would gently push against him- but the inhales never came. The father ran his fingers through her bloodied hair and whispered reassurances. _

_"You're fine. You're okay, you're fine."_

_The words fell empty in open air._

□□□

"What are you going to do now?" Asks Friday, innocent but unfazed by the earlier events of the day.

Peter swallows and shakes his head. He's been sitting here for over an hour. "I don't know," he admits. "We both know what will happen if I don't do anything."

He watches for movement, any movement, in the body before him. "But I don't think I can. The only thing I think I can do- that I'm capable of, you know- is just take him home."

"So," says Friday, prompting. "Take him home."

Peter swallows past the lump in his throat. It isn't fair, none of this is. It isn't only that the world has become so aggressively fucked up, but that, he has been left now with two options: do nothing and deal with the consequences, or do something and live with the mental strain, the pain that never truly leaves. The prime example is right here in front of him. This, he reminds himself, is what he will become. When he was young, that was all he ever wanted. 

"It's not that simple, Friday."

He swallows. "Its just not."

Because it all started with her. With that body, on the pavement, crumpled and broken and bloodied. The rush of pain and fear, as the father scooped her up in his arms, and ran, aimlessly for a moment, and then to him- 

How he rocked her as if she were an infant as he waited, his tears staining her skin. The constant reassurances: you will be okay, you're fine, you'll be fine. All lies, blatant and obvious.

It is because he made that deal- that damned deal that brought her back-

That he is here now. 

If course, if he looks at this logically, this is all Tony's fault. A fathers love knew no bounds, and a deal with the devil knew no guidelines. So, they are here now. 

Peter waits.

He waits.

Then:

Ribs expand, skin stretches, and the tension goes slack. Eyelids twitch and lips curl. He blinks awake, aware of a brand new world.

Peter knows it isn't really him, but he can't help but feel relieved. 

Tony swallows and attempts to speak.

"No, don't." Peter advises. "It'll take some time."

These things have gotten so good at mimicking the tendencies, embodying the life and realism of the human body. It is an art form, really, these creatures. This one, specifically, has Tony's eyes down so well. When he looks at Peter, the boy feels at peace, and he knows how dangerous that really is.

These are more terrifying than zombies. These resemble life in its purest form.

But it is so easy to believe that all will be alright when he looks into those caring eyes. Peter decides that, unless and until the creature realizes its potential, he is safe. Peter slides down against the rocky dirt, until he is right next to Tony, head propped at his shoulder. 

"I'll bring you home," he promises. The words are empty against open air 


End file.
